Cindy Lee
Diamond Jubilee

“Fragile pop gems”, just these few words from Isidoro are enough for me to dive in headfirst.

The pop would then be even retro, meaning basically old stuff, or, if you prefer, today's messes inside yesterday's dreams.

Here, singing is Cindy, a mix of mud and stardust, half loser and half queen. Take Dennis Hopper when he sings In Dreams, remove almost all the sordid undertones and dive into queer imagery.

Instead of a sneer, you'll have a half-smile, some sequins on the empty stage, and the sweet smell of dreams that almost take your breath away.

In any case, Cindy is the drag queen version of Patrick Flagel, a Canadian musician who is no spring chicken, and after years of dabbling in noise and chaos, comes out in 2024 with this fabulous pop sanctum sanctorum.

But Cindy is not just Cindy. She is also Faye Dunaway, she is also Karen Carpenter, two true obsessions of his from the start.

Not only that, Cindy is Tammy, is Patsy, is Nancy, is one of the Ronettes, basically all those starlets that come back on stage here as ghosts.

Because Cindy is just like a ghost singing, or like the memory of something that is also something else, that is also Cindy.

Ah, all those songs of loss and abandonment, tears, empty rooms, hearts of ice! All hackneyed stuff, of course, but that’s not the point.

The point is that those words are pins that pierce. They come from a world with closed eyes where you are no longer in charge.

In fact, they come from the moment before, the no man's land between sleep and wakefulness, when you are awake just enough not to be at all.

And it's at that moment that a kind of truth arrives made of desire, submission, solitude...

And so yes, fragile pop gems, lost in the drift of a semi-asleep sound and almost at the limit of the perceptual threshold.

With that wandering guitar that plays around the fire for five desperados or invents on the spot hyper shabby juggling.

And, at certain moments, you almost have the impression that it is your own amazement that keeps everything standing.

Then, if you want the references, we’re talking the sixties' pop area Phil Spector or Beach Boys, the “fifties of the tile”, Lynch soundtracks, certain Velvet ballads, the softest psychedelia, the most astute glam, the craziest folk. All wrapped in the steam/fog that emanates from a highly personal low-fi cauldron.

In short, an album so beautiful that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and then a smile escapes from those who, at least for a moment, have found a home.

Ah, Diamond Jubilee does not exist as a physical support and is not found on Spotify. However, it is possible to listen to it on YouTube, as I did. Or download it for free or with an offer.

Trallallà...